


There Be Ghosts

by AriWrote



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Does it need a Character Death tag if they were already dead, Implied Relationships, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Relationship, ghost au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-05 04:21:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14036073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AriWrote/pseuds/AriWrote
Summary: Ryoma has a new roommate. Too bad he's dead, and doesn't pay the damn rent.-A Dumb Ghost AU Treated Both Too Seriously and Not Seriously Enough





	There Be Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> This won't be a cohesive story, more an au I come back to every so often to write in.

The first thought that flickers through Ryoma's mind when he stumbles, half-inebriated, into his new apartment and squarely into the chest of a frankly, quite attractive man is, "Wait, what the fuck?"

The second, a bit belated and brought about by noticing the eerie glow this man emits and the obvious gash in the man's throat is, "Oh shit, not here."

The third and only one he vocalizes is, "So you're the reason this place was so cheap."

The man in question (blonde, slightly taller than Ryoma, face marred by a frown that seems dreadfully familiar there) glares down at him as though Ryoma is the ghost managing to ruin what would otherwise be a wonderful one-man housewarming party. Ryoma watches as the man goes from glare to confusion when his words finally make their way through the veil of ghostly communication. He's gaping like a fish, the kind of stop-start of someone whose entire world has been shattered. And who knows, maybe it has.

(The drunk part of Ryoma's brain tries to decide if it's a better look.)

"Can you speak?" He slurs, taking a step back so he isn't quite so pressed up against the man. He tries to lean against the wall, but misjudges and manages to look more clumsy than suave.

Amusement, Ryoma thinks, comes to camp on his ghostly companion's face: arched eyebrow, the faint implications of a smile, and just the right hint of smugness (The drunk part of his brain supplies an unhelpful: 8/10). Then his question comes through and the confusion comes back in full force. The man shakes his head no and makes a vague gesture to the wound on his neck.

"Yeah, that would make communication a bit difficult, wouldn't it?" Ryoma scratches at the back of his necks and sighs. "Listen. I don't have the brain power or will to deal with you tonight. Rain check?"

He eyes the man's attire and wonders if he even understands the concept of "rain check". Probably not, but Ryoma doesn't wait around to see. He leaves the man where he is and heads towards his bedroom.

He doesn't even try to turn the lights on, merely kicks away the boxes in his path and crashes onto his unmade bed. Despite his closed eyes, the unnatural glow of his unplanned roommate makes its way through. He can feel the man's glare on the back of his neck. On any other day, he would find it impossible to sleep in these conditions.

Today, he's out before he can think.

* * *

He wakes up to the man leaning against the wall opposite his bed. His legs are crossed at the ankles, his arms curled tight around himself, and an inscrutable expression settled on his face as he stares at some spot on Ryoma's wall. He acknowledges Ryoma's awakening with nothing more than a sidelong glance. It manages to get across his annoyance fairly well.

"Alright," Ryoma grumbles, "give me a moment to wake up."

There's a mild headache pounding behind his eyes and the general unwillingness that comes with being forced to do something he'd thought he'd left behind at home. He blinks up at the ceiling, ignoring the dust that's collected there and that he'll have to get to eventually. The sooner he gets this over with, the sooner he can achieve normalcy.

He pushes himself up into a sitting position and begins, "How much sway do you have over physical objects?"

The ghost tilts his head for a moment, and with a quicker reaction time than last night, leans over a half-assembled desk. He reaches for a screw, and his hand passes through it a couple of times before it seems to register a presence there. It trails after the path of his hand before clattering onto the floor where it waits for Ryoma's unsuspecting foot to trample on it.

The ghost stares at it for a moment before looking back at Ryoma with an expression that says, "You pick it up," in the same haughty manner as a cat who has knowingly tipped a glass over.

"Alright," he says, a hand pressed against his mouth to stifle a yawn. He'd hoped this ghost would have a more tangible presence in the world than a strong breeze, but he guesses that would make things too easy.

Ryoma pushes himself off his bed and pads over to a box he's sure he'd packed the calligraphy supplies Mikoto and his mother had given him as a going away present. Hopefully, he'd packed notepads and pens alongside it so he wouldn't have to resort to using the expensive things.

He doesn't find a notepad, but he finds an older practice book that he's willing to spare. The pen, he finds only after it marks his hand with blue smudges. He tosses the book on his bed and turns to point at the ghost with the pen. It's not particularly threatening, and the man even smirks at him. "I assume based on your outfit that you know how to read and write," Ryoma says.

The man looks what Ryoma would call affronted, though it could just be his face. He offers a stilted nod, and mouths what Ryoma assumes is a, "Why?"

"The first step in getting-" he waves the pen in the vague direction of the ghost "-you settled is getting your name and considering-" another gesture, this time to his neck which makes the ghost wince and raise a hand to the wound as if he'd forgotten "-we're going to have to use an old-school method."

Ryoma settles himself on the bed and flips through the book until he finds a relatively empty page. "You can't interact all that well with most objects, right? But considering how you made your introduction last night, I have reason to believe I don't function by those rules." He rubs at a faded scar on his neck. The man's eyes dart to the action, and Ryoma jerks his hand away and back to the paper.

The man approaches slowly. Somehow he manages to be even tenser than he previously had been. His arms are still crossed and he stares down at Ryoma as if this is all some trick.

Ryoma taps the pen against the paper, a silent ‘Hurry up'.

The man uncrosses his arms, though his shoulders are still stiff (Remnants of etiquette training, Ryoma wonders?). There's an almost imperceptible tremble as he reaches for Ryoma's hand. When he makes contact, Ryoma feels only the hint of pressure before the man jerks his hand back as if burned. He cradles it to his chest, staring wide-eyed at Ryoma.

Ryoma raises an eyebrow and tilts his head. "Did you think last night was a fluke or…?"

The man shakes his head and once more reaches for Ryoma's hand. This time he does not jerk away and even goes as far as to attempt to write something.

_‘I am unfamiliar with this.’_

The letters are shaky. Ryoma's own natural resistance to being forced to do something and the ghost's hesitation combining together to form something that looks remarkably like a child's scribblings. It's readable though, which is the best he can hope for.

"Then it's a good thing I'm not," Ryoma says. He feels the ghost's eyes flicker to the faded scar he'd touch earlier and tries not to flinch. "Anyway, like I said, if you want to move on, I'm going to need a name."

The man once again presses a hand to his throat. His eyes close for a minute; his lips press deeper into a frown. When he opens his eyes again, Ryoma thinks he almost looks sad. He reaches for Ryoma's hand again and begins to write.

_‘X… A…. N…’_

"Xander?" Ryoma says once he finishes. It's only a first name, which isn't as useful as a full name, but Ryoma supposes it'll have to do. He glances over at Xander, who's returned back to his default of crossed-arm defensiveness. On a closer look, he notices that there's… a hint of a blush burning away at the tips of his ears, though his expression remains as impassive as always. Ryoma wanders how long it has been since he's heard his name said, if the singularity of it wasn't because he'd forgotten all else. Xander's eyes meet his and for a moment the sadness of before returns.

Ryoma breaks the eye contact to stare down at his practice book. He taps the page near Xander's name, shuffling through questions in his mind.

When he looks up, he finds that Xander is gone. The air feels chillier where he stood, but beyond that and the screw that still waited for Ryoma's foot, there's was nothing to say he'd ever been there.

Ryoma huffs and tosses the workbook to the edge of his bed. He's dealt with tight-lipped ghosts before; Xander would be no different. They all came around in the end.

Ryoma would just need to try a little harder.

* * *

On a whim, Ryoma grabs a couple boxes of neon alphabet magnets on his way home the next day. The cashier glances from him to the magnets, perhaps trying to judge if he looks like a man who'd need so many.

He hopes Xander appreciates his gesture.

(He'll take the _‘Seriously?_ ' he finds written out in an atrocious neon rainbow on his fridge as a ‘yes'.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> There is only minor planning here. If you really like it though and actually want more, just send me a prompt (mentioning that you want it in this AU) and wait 3-5 business months.  
> [I kid.](https://ariwrote.tumblr.com/)


End file.
